A past that Haunts you
by archerm99
Summary: Constructive Criticism Welcome. Please review. Rated T just in case. Sherlock's sister is threatened when a man from his past comes back to haunt him


Where was he? Where was my brother? He should be home by now. A man held a gun to my forehead. I couldn't stop shaking and crying. I didn't want to die. Not yet. I hadn't lived. Where was Sherlock? I wanted him to be here. To help. To get the men away. My hands were the colour of blood and aching. The door opened.

It had been just a normal day. Sherlock had received a call and had left the house at about 10 o'clock. John had left at about midday. There was a knock at the door at about 2 o'clock. I'd gone and answered it, without checking who it was through the 'peep' hole in the door. I'd opened the door and the man asked if my brother was there. I'd said no, sorry who are you? He'd told me he was a friend of Sherlock's. I recognised the man from a picture I'd seen Sherlock with so I let him in. I led him into the lounge, asked if he'd wanted a drink. He'd asked for a cup of coffee, no sugar, no milk. Just bitter. Then I'd walked back into the lounge and handed him the drink. "Thank you, Rosalie." I should have realised then that I hadn't introduced myself.

The man had stood up. He'd placed his coffee on the wooden table by the side of the sofa. He'd pulled out a gun from his jacket pocket. "Sit down, Rosalie." He'd forcefully ordered, gently yet threateningly placing the gun against my head. I'd sat down. My hands got sweatier and sweatier over the next hour. To say I wasn't scared would be a lie. To say I wasn't losing faith in my brother was a lie. To say I still trusted him to come back wouldn't be a lie.

The door opened. Sherlock stepped in, his back turned to me and my man.

"Hello, Allie."

"Hello." I tried to not whimper. I tried to sound confident.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, Sherlock. What was the call about?"

"Someone had just lost something of value. They asked me if everything was correct and I told them no. It took a few hours for them to even start to understand what I was saying. But that's over now." The man stood behind me pressed the gun harder into my forehead. I winced.

"Sherlock?"

"Allie?"

"Help?" My brother turned to face me. He looked startled.

"Afternoon, Mr Holmes. Your sister let me in. Lovely girl, isn't she?" I could hear the man smirking.

"Why are you here, Moriarty?"

"I've come back to haunt you. I'm your ghost of the past! Ha-ha! Now, do exactly what I tell you or your ickle sister won't be here for much longer." I looked up at Sherlock. He looked down on me. What had I done?

"Sit, Sherlock." My brother did what he was told, still staring at me.

"What is the combination for the prison?"

"Why would you want to know that?"

"Let's just say I owe a friend some favours. Now, what's the combination?"

"There isn't one." Moriarty clicked the safety of the gun off, pressing the end forcefully against my head.

"You're playing games with your sister's life, Sherlock. Do you really despise her that much?"

"No. I'm not. And she knows I don't despise her. She means a lot to me. There is no combination for the prison. You require something else."

"What is that?"

"A hand print."

"Who's?"

"Don't tell him Sherlock. I'll be fine. Please Sherlock don't." Sherlock's eyes glistened with tears.

"_Don't tell him Sherlock!" _Moriarty imitated my voice, "Ah. So noble of you Rosalie. See, I'll be finding out about whose handprint it is either way. Sherlock, whose handprint is it? You know I'll kill her." Moriarty pulled back the trigger. I heard the gun click. I saw Sherlock sigh.

"I'm sorry, Rosalie."

"Don't be. I'll be fine."

"No, not for that. It's Mr Bryce's handprint that unlocks it." Moriarty laughed.

"Aha! Now the world will see you for who you really are, Sherlock Holmes. They will see you how I see you."

"Yes, Moriarty. Now, a deal is a deal. Move the gun away from Aurora. You can't kill her now." Moriarty clicked the safety on and placed the gun in his jacket pocket. He moved towards the door.

"Now, I must go make use of the information you have given me. Thank you once again, Sherlock!" Moriarty bowed then left the room. I heard the front door slam. Sherlock stood up then moved closer to me, bending down to my eye level.

"Why did you tell him?"

"He was going to kill you. And anyway, that wasn't the right person. I don't know myself. Mr Bryce is a fictional character from Harry Potter. He's in The Goblet of fire," Sherlock stated, speeding up, "Killed by Voldemort. World War Two Veteran. Care taker of the Riddle Family. Questioned when the Riddles were murdered as he had the keys to the house. Bodies are unmarked by the Killing Curse so there was no evidence to show he'd killed the Riddles- which of course he hadn't, Tom Riddle (later Voldemort) had- meaning that the police were forced to release him. However, the people of Little Hangleton (where the Riddles lived) were convinced that he was still guilty, which ended up in Frank Bryce having to live on the grounds of the Riddles' home and tend to the house. He was murdered because he overheard Voldemort's plan to murder Harry. Nagini slithers past him and reports him to Voldemort. Voldemort then used the killing curse on Frank Bryce, killing him and-"

"Sherlock? Breathe." He emphasized a breath.

"And you call yourself a Potterhead? Honestly, Rosalie."

"Sherlock? Allie?" I heard the front door close. Sherlock looked around to the door.

"We're in the living room, John." Sherlock looked back at me. He stroked a loose bit of hair and tucked it back behind my ear.

"Smile." He whispered. I did what he said. He smiled back. He gave me a hug. He squeezed tight. I heard footsteps coming towards the door. I let go of Sherlock and pulled back. Sherlock stood up. John opened the door and stepped in. Sherlock turned to face him.

"Are you two okay?"

"Yes." I replied.

"Now we are."

"Oh? What happened?"

"I was just asking Rosalie how she could call herself a Potterhead when she doesn't know who Frank Bryce is. It's pitiful."

"Whatever, Sherlock."

"But also, John, we have a problem." John put down the bags he was carrying, but did not look up.

"Are you going to tell me or us what the problem is, Sherlock?"

"Moriarty." John looked up. Sherlock started pacing.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Just now. Before the Harry Potter reference. It was because of that that we got onto Harry Potter."

"Where?"

"Here."

"Why?"

"He wanted to know how to get into the Prison. He asked what the combination was for the Prison and I told him there wasn't one. I told him you needed a handprint and he asked whose. He was holding a gun to Rosalie's head," John looked at me, as if to say are you ok? "But I told him it was Mr Bryce's handprint he needed, who of course is a muggle in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire who was killed by Vol-"

"I know who Frank Bryce is in Harry Potter, Sherlock," John told him. My brother had started to speed up again. "Did he say anything else, though?"

"He said the reason he needed to know was because he owed a friend some favours," I cut in. I didn't want Sherlock going on an explanation that went all about the houses again.

"Right. So we need to find out who this friend is and why he owes them some favours and what favours."

"He owes a Mr James Adkins some favours because he helped him a few months back with some kind of break in that Moriarty was planning and going through which he was not found guilty for. The favours are to release the man and his friends from Prison. Adkins is in prison because he was found guilty for the break in and it was suggested he used Magic. Moriarty is clever, you see."

"How do you know all this, Sherlock?"

"It's elementary, my dear Watson."

"Of course it is." John replied sarcastically.

"Sherlock? He said that he had come back to haunt you, that he was the ghost of your past. What did he mean?" Sherlock stopped pacing and turned to face me.

"I was the one who gave the evidence against Adkins."


End file.
